A Battle Throughout the Ages
by Thesixthfaction
Summary: Quincy Heifer from District 10 is reaped into the 54th Hunger Games. What will ensue during the twenty-eight days of absolute terror? Read to find out. All characters are out of context. Point of views will vary between characters, and third-person. Rated T for violence.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

THE AWAKENING

QUINCY

* * *

><p>I woke up to my brother kicking me in the gut. "Gage," I whispered, "Cut it out." He just groaned. "Gage," I repeated, slapping him on the shoulder, "Stop it."<p>

Gage groaned again, and then opened his brown eyes, the same color of Nala, our cow's, fur. "What do you want, Quincy?" He asked, still dazed.

"Stop kicking me," I quietly exclaimed.

"I can't help it, we're in a queen with four people." He did have a point there. In our family, there were seven of us kids, Gage, Merrill, Kayla, Beau, Phelan, Gilliam, and me. We had three beds in our small house, two of which were in the kids room. The kids room had shabby wallpaper, tearing at the edges, which once was a beautiful aqua, and was now a faded blue.

"Whatever, let's wake up the others." The process wasn't too hard, as we were used to it, and didn't involve us dumping water on each other, because, quite frankly, we didn't have an abundance of the stuff!

We all wore the same outfit-some sort of undershirt with pants, and jean overalls-so it was pretty easy to keep track of us.

Here in District 10, where we specialized in raising livestock, what you wore didn't matter, as by the end it would be soaked in sweat, mud, or rain. I put on my blue rainboots that were the color of the wall, and trekked downstairs to get breakfast ready.

I jumped over the creaky stair, not wanting to wake my parents up. My dad worked long days in the shops, trying to sell our eggs and milk, trying to make a few extra pennies. My mom stayed in the pens all last night, as Nala, the cow, was about to have her heifer, which explained our namesake.

I toasted some of the rough bread made from tessera, grain that helped keep our family alive, but made me put another slip of paper into the shiny, glass ball.

But that's another story.

Phelan walked down the stairs, almost tripping over the bottom one, as he was yawning and trying to pat down his mussed blond hair.

"Hey sis," he said, "What's for breakfast?" He spoke without an accent, all of us did, because we lived in the land that was once called the Midwest, not down South.

"Same old, same old." I muttered. The only days we ever got extravagant breakfasts was on Reaping Day, which could also turn into one of the most depressing days.

Last year, the girl tribute representing District 10 was named Lila, and she was one of my closest friends. Unfortunately, she was killed in the Cornucopia Bloodbath, and was the fourth dead.

We had a grand number of four victors, there in District 10, two of which have just won since I was born.

Phelan brought me out of my thoughts with the sound of breaking china. One of the jars, filled with marmalade, had burst apart on the ground, and I screamed at him, "You idiot! Why didn't you let me reach it?" I swatted his head with a towel that Mom made out of thread from District 8.

"Because you were making toast!" Phelan reasoned.

"You could've interrupted me!" I heard footsteps coming from the hall. "Great, you've now woken up Mom and Dad!" I blew some of my brown hair out of my eyes, which were the color of hazelnuts.

"What's going on in here?" Dad asked, yawning.

"Oh nothing." I slowly said. "Can you get a broom from the cellar?"

"Sure thing." Dad winked at me. I can see why my mom married him. He looked just like the other men in District 10-tall, with brown hair and eyes-yet he was endearing, and witty, and charismatic, and the list could go on and on and on.

At that moment, the other five of us walked in, all in their usual outfits. "Okay guys," I directed, "I'm going to need full attention today, as winter is coming, so we need to gather enough crops, so we will have enough to feed the cattle." I had to tell them what to do, because I was the oldest, and without order, these people would be as lost as a spoon in a bail of hay. "Kayla and Beau, you will be collecting the eggs since you are the youngest, the rest of you need to milk the cows. Phelan and I will get the plows going."

We couldn't afford a decent breakfast, much the less electric plows. Oh no, we had some of our oxen pull a contraption that farmers came up with years ago.

"But I don't wanna collect the eggs!" Kayla whined. "None of the chickens like me! I wanna milk the cows!"

"Kayla, why don't you get a head start on shucking the corn."

"Fine!"

Mom walked into the kitchen, and a few seconds later, the toast ejected from the toaster. It was made in the Capitol, and could hold ten pieces at once. It was a gift after Wyvern Holdem won the Games a few years back.

"Hey guys, guess what?" She asked.

"What?" We all asked in unison.

"Nala had her heifer! Isn't this great?"

"Yeah. Has she stood yet?"

"Nah. But she'll get there."

* * *

><p>Beau didn't know how to collect eggs. That was an understatement, actually. Where did the even come from? That was a question the seven year-old couldn't wrap his tiny head around.<p>

He reached in the small pen, which was just an old bookshelf covered in hay, and grabbed the egg. He remembered what Daddy had told him, _Check their ears to find out what color egg they'll be laying. _

Beau didn't understand why. Who cares what color egg the hen will lay anyway? But he would follow orders. That's what his sister, Gilliam, told him to do.

He put the egg back in the cubbyhole, and then grabbed the hen. She pecked at his arm. "Ouch!" he squealed. There were no ears, well not the ones that looked like his at least.

_Whatever, _he thought to himself. _I'll just tell them that I am allergic to chicken feathers!_ He put the hen back in her pen, and then swiftly grabbed the egg. One down, forty more to go.

Hen number twenty-eight was not very cooperative. Beau was too short, and couldn't reach any of the chickens on the top row. He went inside the farmhouse, and got one of the wooden stools under the dirty sink. After swatting the cobwebs, he walked back into the chicken house.

After many failed attempts, Beau finally got the hen partially out of the shelf. She was being stubborn, and rather unpleasant. He had scratch marks on his arms to prove it. After one final hoist, he doubled back, right into Quincy, who decided to come in at that moment.

The bruise would not be pretty, as his elbow made contact with her face faster than you can say corn niblets. "Ughhh!" She let out. Tears welled in her eyes.

"Sorry," Beau squeaked.

Quincy looked like she just swallowed a lemon. "Why don't you help us milk the cows instead? I'll have Merrill collect the eggs."

"Okay," he said, his voice barely audible.

Quincy started hastily walking out.

"Wait, Quincy, I have a question."

"What is it?"

"Where do eggs come from?"

* * *

><p>As the oldest children, Phelan and I had the luxury of working in the stockyard and slaughterhouse. Dad told us all that once we were fourteen, this would become a part of our duties. Since Phelan had just turned fourteen a few weeks ago, he was still a newcomer.<p>

I comforted the cattle and other animals before they went to get murdered. Dad taught us how to use an ax, as that was the easiest way to quickly kill the livestock. They also had multiple uses, like cutting down trees for kindling and firewood.

I never wanted to go in the slaughterhouse again. After my first time at age fourteen, the putrid stench of raw meat and blood has made me pass out. I would never make a good tribute.

I sprinkled oats from District 9 to the chickens, running my fingers through their plumage, until I got bitten by a rooster named Chuck.

I never liked them anyway.

"Which one's next?" Dad hollered through the cruddy logs of the slaughterhouse.

"Why not some of these roosters? Preferably Chuck."

"Gotcha, hun." He walked out the door, grabbing a pen of roosters with his strong, bronze arms, and then ran back into the building.

I noticed one of the roosters waddling away, clucking occasionally. I hoisted him up, and then threw him into the slaughterhouse. "One got away, I think it's Colo." To confirm my suspicions, I looked at his feet. Slightly mangled from a fight with a coyote, and scaly with orangey-coral claws. That's him.

I saw Phelan walking out of the slaughterhouse, trying not to vomit, but still gagging. His hair shined in the sun, but the temperature was plummeting, as it was late autumn. He had dirty-blond locks, the lightest hair in our large family of nine.

"So how was it?" I asked. "Entirely nasty?"

Phelan nodded. "I don't know how Dad can spend a day in there, much the less an hour."

"Ugh." I said, "Eat some mint leaves, your breath smells like the place where cows go to die."

"It's ironic, considering I was just at the place where cattle go to die!"

I smirked. "But seriously, eat some mint." Here, herbs were not a delicacy. My family was somewhat wealthy, as we had two floors, with six rooms in total, a garden, a barn, slaughterhouse and stockyard, and acres upon acres of land.

Even though we barely used them for reasonable causes.

* * *

><p>In the shucking area, a place where tracker-jackers were abundant, and all of the maize was sent, Beau was dying of thirst. Of course, the others (besides Phelan, Quincy and Gilliam-he wasn't quite sure where she went) were with him, helping making feed with some of the tesserae grain and ground corn.<p>

You may wonder why those kids weren't in school. They were homeschooled, as most kids working on family farms were, so they could meet their required amount per capita.

Beau decided to pipe up. "Can I get some water from the well?"

"You do realize that the town well is two miles away, right?" Merrill reasoned. "It's worth too much effort. Besides, we have fresh milk!" He jingled a canteen, with it's contents swishing around the metal inside, attempting to keep it cool.

"Oh, can I have some of that?" Beau asked dreamily.

"Sure." Merrill said, "Catch." He threw the canteen to Beau, which knocked into his head. Beau landed on a tree stump with a thump.

"Oh my god!" Gilliam said, just now arriving.

"Is he dead?" Kayla screamed.

"No, I think he's just unconscious," Gage confirmed.

Phelan and Quincy walked into the shucking area. "What happened?" Quincy asked.

"Beau got knocked unconscious by dimwit's canteen over here." Gilliam said, pointing at Merrill.

"Well, what did you guys do?" Phelan wondered.

"Oh, we just let him lay there." Merrill informed with a grin.

"Ugh. This family needs more girls," Quincy said, "Let's get him inside." At that, the four oldest siblings, Quincy, Phelan, Gage and Gilliam, hoisted him up into their arms, each grabbing a different limb. Merrill must have thought this was some sort of joke, because he bounded into them, knocking them into a scraggly, thin apple tree.

They all fell down, which made Quincy think of the song, _Ring Around the Rosie,_ where everybody falls down laughing.

Except no one was laughing.

In fact, all of these negative vibrations must have agitated a hive of tracker-jackers, because they were starting to leave their papery-gray hive.

_Smoke is the way to get rid of them, _Quincy remembered. That's what her dad had told her at least.

She ran away from the hive quickly, with all of the other kids calling out for her to come back immediately.

"I'll be just a few seconds," she screamed through the wind, bolting into the house. Quincy grabbed a box of matches, and ran into the woods separating District 9 and 10 apart.

A few minutes later, she had a large bunch of green wood, which would start smoking like crazy if lit. Quincy also grabbed a knife back at the house, but she would save that for later.

Arriving at the shucking area, Beau was still unconscious, and Gilliam was trying to force some milk into his mouth from the tip of the canteen. Tracker-jackers were now swarming parts of the meadow, and some of the others were swatting them away.

Quincy set down the heavy wood, and felt the fatigue lift off of her shoulders. "Okay guys," She said, "Let's just light this and get away from here." She felt a sharp pinch on her arm, and immediately started getting dizzy.

She heard a crackle, and saw a bright flame on the tip of a tan stick, and attached it to the wood. It burned out.

The second flame was more effective, and the smoke started billowing in large puffs. The tracker-jackers were literally falling from the sky, yet some managed to find their way back to the hive.

Quincy chucked the serrated knife, hoping for the edge to at least scrape the thin material

surrounding the hive. It pierced the gray covering, and the hive fell on the ground. The remaining tracker-jackers attempted to sting the seven of us, but the smoke got the best of them.

Stupid insects.

* * *

><p>Around the ochre dinner table, our large family of nine sat in silence.<p>

"So," Dad started awkwardly, "What happened to you guys?"

"I got nailed in the face by Beau and a chicken," I said.

"I gagged at the slaughterhouse!" Phelan exclaimed, as if that was a good thing.

"I passed out!" Beau continued.

"My overalls are covered in milk!" Kayla cheered, holding the rough material of her overalls out for emphasis.

"So the norm." Dad said with a grin.

I smirked. "Basically, yeah. So what exactly will we eat? I skipped lunch for the third day in a row." This happened more than a lot. I frequently had too many chores, and before I knew it, it was six o'clock, and I was starving.

Like I said before, our family was partially wealthy, not like the people in the Victor's Village of course, but we were never starving.

We lived in the richer part of District 10, along the border, where two rivers meet. Here, farmers, barn managers, milkers, and ranchers live. The other side of town is where we send the meat after it's killed, but other than that, it is so fresh, it could practically walk.

I seldom visit the other part, mostly because the people there are downright creepy. On weeknights, the eery glow of the candles dotting the streets is the only light for miles. Much apart from us, where we keep working, even after the small shreds of light slip under the hills, only to appear once again in the morning.

"Quincy!" My dad shouted at me, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"What?" I asked.

"I've been saying your name multiple times. Why didn't you answer?"

"I didn't hear you. I'm sorry. What did you want to tell me?"

"Well, I wanted to tell you that we are eating this," He slid a giant bowl filled with leafy greens, kale, dandelions, and a sweet vinaigrette. In other words, it was my favorite dinner, dandelion salad.

"Dad, where did you get this?" I said with awe in my voice.

"Well, the thing is, I traded Nala's heifer, Marmo, with some butchers on the other part of town. He must've known someone from District 11, because that's the only way he could've gotten all of that."

"With the butcher?" I shouted. "Great, now someone is probably eating expensive beef in the Capitol!"

"Honey, that's not true," he said, trying to comfort me, "It might be someone in this district."

"Ugh. You're unbelievable."

The rest of dinner was spent in another period of silence, and the sound of forks banging against our only set of plates, and the repeated munching of the salad that could probably buy a new set of pots and pans.

"You know," Dad said to me in between bites of lettuce, "I was going to offer you, Gage and Phelan a semester at a leadership university in District 1. But if you don't want to go, then Gage and Phelan can go without you."

Gage and Phelan perked up. "How can you manage to pay for a vacation for three, much less three beds?"

"Well you see, at my work the other day, one of those Peacekeepers dropped a receipt for something, so I decided to check it out. It turns out that the receipt was a lottery ticket, and I managed to have the winning numbers. And what is a better way to spend that money than on my three oldest children, for a trip to learn more about responsibilities and leadership positions?"

"I don't know," Kayla piped up, "On some decent beds!"

"This is anarchy!" Merrill screamed.

"You know, Glenn, it might be a bit wiser for us to take a vote on how to spend the money," Mom said, patting Dad's shoulder.

"I will hear nothing of the sort!" he bellowed, "Phelan, Gage and Quincy, you are going

to District 1!"

"Fabulous," I muttered under my breath.

* * *

><p><strong>Hey guys! <strong>

***Tries not to be too creepy saying this* I'm back!**

**So, this is a somewhat-long chapter, and hopefully I will upload Chapter 2, Colonel Felix's Tribute Academy, on Sunday.**

**Keep an eye out for A Promise Well Kept, my Percabeth skiing fic, but I'm not sure when I'll upload it. **

**Until then,**

**-Thesixthfaction**


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

COLONEL FELIX'S TRIBUTE ACADEMY

QUINCY

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><p><em>Dad's gone mad, <em>I thought to myself, _With that amount of money, we could've bought a new barn, or large dinners for weeks, or donated to the poor. But no, we got an extra semester of school, if you could call it that. I don't know why he sent us here, we already have enough leadership skills._

"So do you want that in a medium?" The loud District 1 women asked from the inside of her shoe closet. She was trying to find the 'perfect pair,' for the big Autumn Gala that night.

One day in, and we were already partying.

The lady with extravagant hair returned from the closet with a pair of red velvet heels, putting them on my feet with sweat on her pale complexion. "You're going to look absolutely stunning," she said happily. "Now let's go pick out your dress."

I decided on a scarlet one, only to match the shoes, and chose a diamond necklace worth more than my house. "Are you sure they won't mind me wearing this?" I asked. I would _not _be dragged away by a Peacekeeper for stealing.

She patted my cheeks, adding on an extra layer of bronzor, "Honey, it's there for you to wear, duh!"

"Right," I said. "So what's this gala about?"

"Oh, anyone who's anyone, or knows anyone for that matter, will be there." I smiled and nodded, even though there wasn't much to be happy about.

I missed District 10.

* * *

><p>"No Kimberly, just no!" These are the words I heard as I walked into the small dorm room with a duffle bag on my shoulder.<p>

I see a girl with bright blond hair and electric indigo eyes bouncing on her bed, wearing a magenta silk dress that fell just above her knees. She was on her cell phone, I think that's what they're called at least, talking to some girl who was supposedly named Kimberly.

"Excuse me," I said, "Who are you?"

"Oh I'm Amethyst, and you must be Kiara, the mayor's daughter." She stuck her hand out. "You are Kiara, right?"

"Uhh, no." I said. "I'm Quincy from District 10."

The girl, Amethyst, shrieked at this, jumping away, whipping her hand back almost as fast as her hair. "Eww, germs!"

"Don't worry," I managed to get out through gritted teeth. "I washed my hands."

Her expression fell off of her stupid face. "Oh. Well, in that case, welcome. I suppose you're my roommate, so let me suggest that you sleep over there," she pointed to the ground, "And I'll sleep here," she then pointed to the top bunk bed.

"You know that there are two bunks for two people." I said, annoyed.

"No, my clothes are on the bottom bunk."

"But that's why we have the dresser."

"Ooh, this is getting heated." Amethyst pressed a button on her phone, "Kimberly, I need to hang up," She pressed another button, "Anyway, my makeup and toiletries are in the dresser. But I'm pretty sure there is some extra linen somewhere. Maybe you can knit yourself a bag."

"Please shut up," I said blatantly.

"Okay. Wait, hold the phone, you said you were from District 10. But how? This is a tribute center, where teenagers of _District 1_ learn how to use weapons and fight.

_Wait. A tribute center? Of course, this was where Career tributes came to learn how to survive the Hunger Games, and hopefully win. _These were some of the thoughts rummaging through my head at that moment.

_Dad must've known this. We were responsible enough, so this place would definitely be useless. He probably thought that since we had so many entry slips, that some training would help,_ I thought.

"Amethyst, how long does this training go?"

"Oh, it usually goes until winter, but if you'd like to take a double-block, you go to spring. Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

"Let's get going. The gala starts in just a few minutes."

* * *

><p>Parties, I recently learned, are not always fun. Apparently, here in District 1, dancing is important. But in the Heifer house, unless it earned us money, dancing was about as useless as pottery and swinging from a chandelier.<p>

I stepped on my brother Phelan's toes as we spinned around, earning me a low groan. "Ow, why didn't you go to the ballroom dancing lesson?"

"There was a ballroom dancing lesson?" I asked. Phelan nodded. "Well that would've come in handy. Too bad that I was so busy arguing with my roommate."

"Oh yeah. Who's your roommate?"

"A girl named Amethyst from District 1. You?"

"A boy named Ambergris. He goes by Gris, though." Phelan dipped me, in which I fell back, hoping he'd catch me.

I hoped wrong.

I landed in a bowl of elixir, a liquid that's supposed to make you vomit if you drink it, my hair and dress getting drenched. I wiped the sweet liquid from my tongue, hoping not to swallow any of it.

I felt bile climb my throat though, and I knew I was a goner. I swiftly ran into the boy's bathroom, and then vomited all over the floor. The yellow-green liquid's stench that was permeating the air smelled terrible, and I pulled the hem of my shirt over my nose.

I walked out of the restroom with my head held high, and a poised smile on my face. A boy stared at me with a horrified look on his face. "Don't worry," I said, "I put the seat down."

I returned to dancing with Phelan, my dress still damp, a red stain covering the front. "Where's Gage?" I asked.

"I don't know. I think I see him though," Phelan pointed across the cafeteria to the snack table, where a swarm of girls with blond hair and beaming eyes stood around him, like wolves with meat. That was my brother, stuffing his face with a variety of bundt cakes, fancy chocolates, petite macaroons, and chocolate eclairs, yet he could still seem to be endearing.

"Let's go talk to him," I said.

"Nah," Phelan decided. "We'll just make ourselves look like fools."

"For me, that ship sailed a long time ago. Let's go."

Phelan hooked elbows with me. "Apres vous."

* * *

><p>"Is that vomit, punch or pee on your dress?" The girl wearing a skimpy dress said impertinently.<p>

"Why don't you find out. Phelan, hold my shoes." I kicked them off, but Phelan grabbed my shoulders.

"You are not going to attack her. I do not want to get kicked out of here before training even starts," Phelan whispered into my ear.

I groaned. An Avox dressed from head to toe in velvet handed me a crystal fluke, containing bubbling cider, a clear liquid, except for the auburn glow emitting from the liquid.

I gingerly took a sip, it was an acquired taste, almost bittersweet, like coffee that I've only tried once, on my dad's birthday.

I puckered my lips after finally registering the sour aftertaste.

"You know, you kind of look like a fish, but now, you're puckering your lips," I spit the drink out in tiny droplets, like morning dew, all over the blonde's dress. "Ugh! This better be organic!" She stomped away in an agitated manner.

* * *

><p>That same girl threw a knife at the board faster than I could gasp. "I still hate you," she said, her voice snobby, like always.<p>

"Way to be subtle," I said blatantly.

The girl strutted away, whipping her hair behind her shoulder.

I tapped Gage on the shoulder. "Why don't we go practice at the ax station?"

Gage grinned. He had always been talented in ax-throwing, cutting down wood faster than even my dad. Although Dad wouldn't let him in the slaughterhouse, he still gained much talent after watching Phelan and I kill the livestock, and with his own personal experience.

The woman, Jessa, I think her name was, laid some wood on the floor and on porcelain pedestals. "Okay, you can go now. If you need help, I will always be here. You may begin."

Gage nailed the pieces of lumber right in the center, splitting the wood in half. He grabbed some of the other metal axes, and even managed to knock the wood off the pedestal with a rusty one.

Gage had accuracy, sure, yet I had length while throwing.

I knocked the skimpy blonde's knife while it was in mid-spin. It stuck to the bulletin board with a bullseye drawn on, but then fell off.

"Maybe you should try throwing at something a little closer. You hit that from approximately fifty yards away. That's good."

"Thanks, but I don't need to. That was a bad shot for me."

It clicked in my head how arrogant and cocky I must've sounded a few seconds it came out of my mouth. "I'm sorry," I apologized.

"It's okay. Now scurry kid, you obviously have mastery of this."

* * *

><p>We passed archery, knot-tying, knife-throwing and camouflage with flying colors before dinner. I barely passed throwing spears, as I had never even attempted doing that before.<p>

Gage, however must have had some training with spears, as he was excelling in every technique, and hit somewhere relatively close to the center almost every time.

"I'm pretty sure half of the girls want your phone number. Too bad you don't have one." I hoisted him up, holding his armpits, and dragged him over to the fire-starting station.

"I'm Jonah," he said. The man had a very dog-like snout, and I assume he got surgery in the Capitol.

"This is Gage," I said, pointing to him, "And I'm Quincy. What district are you from?"

"Five," he muttered, "I won, yet I didn't deserve to. There wasn't enough action, so they decided to dry up every last bit of water. I survived by chewing on leaves and bark, as the others fought it out. I lit a fire, and last tribute, other than me, Gerla, died in it. Ever since then, Colonel Felix, the victor of the 29th Games, has put me up to the duties of fire-lighting ever since. It's ridiculous, actually."

"Well, let's not waste time," Gage said impatiently, "The day's almost come to an end."

"Okay, so you want to start off by dehydrating the wood. It needs to be bone-dry. In the Games, try to find dry wood, but if it's not possible, leave it in the sunlight for a day. Then you want to create friction, or you can use a magnifying glass, or clear jar filled with water, and you'll need to-"

The hour went by hastily, and I admit to liking Jonah's company. No one went to him the entire day, so I assume that most people know how to light a basic fire. But Jonah also taught us how to conceal smoke, and roast food quickly and quietly.

"Everyone please report to the Amusez-Vous Cafe," A voice loudly blared over the intercom, "Remember, it is located on floor four, with the glass terrace, and bar. That's for our eighteen-year olds only, however."

"Bye, Jonah," I said, waving.

"Goodbye, Quincy."

I later found out that he meant that in more than one way.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry for such a short chapter! <strong>

**The next one will be relatively long, and an interesting and detailed plot. I can't specify when it'll come out, though, but I assume sometime next week.**

**This story will get much more interesting, I guarantee it. So just follow or favorite, and you'll get a notification every time I update.**

**Can we get this story to 500 views? I don't know why, because my other stories have at least 1,000 each. I love you all, and I wish I could hug everybody who reads this.**

**Until next time,**

**-Thesixthfaction**


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